Change But Don't Change
by amoveablefeast
Summary: An M rated fic about what happened a couple of months after the end of the first Fifty Shades book. Beginning is slightly angsty, but I assure you it gets much nicer after that, I'm looking for a nice mix of emotions, including of course, romance. Will have some lemon but not too graphic and no (maybe borderline here n there) BDSM. This is compiled one shots, CxA all the way!
1. Chapter 1 - Where is Mr Grey

A/N: This is my first fic, I've read god knows how many before but never put any of my thoughts or ships in words. This one just kept me up last night so I thought why not.

So please (if anyone's actually reading this), review and give me some tips or criticism, specially with grammar, English is not my first language (though I think it still comes damn close don't worry)!

Will do my best to upload new chapters quickly but live a crazy studious life style so sorry in advance if it's late.

Disclaimer – I own nothing, all creds to EL James

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I remember laughing at something Kate had said that evening. She was sitting at her desk and working on her laptop while I worked on mine, sitting to her left on our couch cross-legged with a glass of water in my hand. I think she made the water go my nose, I don't really remember, but she was being her usual ridiculous self.

It had been a good day, unexpectedly cool, and had rained earlier so Kate and I decided to stay in for the evening. I had some work to do for Seattle Independent Publishing anyway so I assumed it was for the better, I've never minded the work anyways. The job was not exactly what I was looking for at first, but well on the track, and rather amazing for my first job after graduating.

So after we had both settled down and resumed clicking around on our laptops, I fell into a comfortable workflow.

That is, until my phone rang.

I fished it out of my pocket hastily, slightly irritated with myself that I was sitting on it again.

Thinking nothing of the call, despite the fact that it was rather late, I kept drinking from my glass as I checked the ID.

Huh, 'unknown caller.' Weird.

"Ms. Steele?"

I froze. I recognised the voice, it was low, calm and composed.

It felt like someone _should_ have taken a knife to my stomach, but didn't, because it wasn't the voice I wanted to hear. I think. It wasn't his, but then again, I don't think I really wanted to hear his voice.

"Ms. Steele?" Jason Taylor said again.

I snapped out of my momentary panic attack, glanced up at Kate who was looking at me curiously from her desk. She must have noticed my hesitation.

"Yes? God, I'm sorry. Taylor?"

"Yes, Ms. Steele, I'm really sorry to have disturbed you so late in the evening."

"No that's fine Taylor, what's up?

The question was superfluous, I knew why he was calling, he probably knew that too, but I asked anyway, to fill the silence that would have inevitably followed.

I sensed his hesitation too, but he continued anyways.

"It's Mr. Grey, He's –"

Again, he couldn't find the words. With any other person I would have been patient, I wouldn't have questioned it, but I'd heard Taylor speak so little over the short months I'd known Christian and he was always curt and clear, never a man to lose his words.

"He's ill." He finished.

"Ill?"

"Since he last saw you ma'am, last week, he's been in a," another pause, "deteriorating condition." He said delicately.

I cringed. I knew I hadn't left Christian whole, but he hadn't exactly left me unharmed either. And I mean that in every sense.

I saw him last week, coincidentally (or so I told myself) in front of Seattle Independent's building. He looked up at me, dressed uncharacteristically in slacks and a white button down with rolled up sleeves, no tie, tucked in. He looked tired, but determined to go about whatever business he had planned. That is, of course, only until before his eyes met mine.

I stood still when I saw him first, hoping all at once that he wouldn't see me but then again that he would. He did, and his steps stuttered.

There was no escaping after that, so I composed myself and took a step towards him. He must have noticed my actions because he promptly and as graciously as ever, closed the space between us. He looked me briefly in the eyes before dropping them and beginning:

"Anastasia."

"Christian," I followed.

"How are you?"

A mundane question I felt, normally said out of common courtesy, though despite the lack of sincerity in his voice, there was sincerity in his eyes, and I felt him gauge my reaction.

"I'm good, Christian, I'm doing quite well actually." I said with a smile.

I too had been sincere. I was doing good, I was happy with my new job, I might even risk saying that I was doing quite successfully at the moment. Though I hadn't developed a new relationship with anyone, and hadn't met any new guys or pursued any one-night stands, despite the occasional requests, stemming mostly from Jose. I never told him that.

"I'm glad to here that, it's nice to see you've found a position here with Seattle Independent, I should have guessed you'd apply here." He replied.

His eyes again held a hint of sincerity, though his voice hadn't changed octaves, it indicated the remark was polite and nothing else, simply another courteous response.

I faltered, unsure of what to say next, my lips slightly parting.

He glanced down at them, and then back at my eyes. I felt the tension I had first felt when we met, but this was different, he stood too far away from me, as if he was afraid of me.

The people kept mulling about around us, and Christian continued the conversation.

"Well I know you must be tired after your day, I've got some business to attend to, I – " he faltered, his eyes flickered to some other object in the distance, not on my face; it was the first time I'd ever seen Christian Grey appear unsure of himself.

"- I should be going. It was nice to see you, you look wonderful."

I should call him Courteous Christian from now on.

"Yeah, of course Christian,"

I glanced briefly at my car, parked on the lot across the street, indicating my mutual intention to leave. Not really sure if I wanted to.

"You too." I smiled warmly again, hoping it came across as genuine as my comment, I mean it _had_ been nice to see him, I guess.

I turned to leave, and exhaled the breath I hadn't realised I was holding. His presence was just as intoxicating as it was before.

I felt his eyes on my back, and if Christian Grey was still the man I had known three months ago, then he'd be watching me cross the street, get into my car and drive away to make sure I was okay.

I didn't stop to look up at him.

"Ms. Steele?" I heard through the receiver, Kate was still looking at me curiously.

"Yeah, I'm sorry Taylor. He's, um, _ill_?" I asked again.

"Yes, as I said, he hasn't resumed his work, he's been drinking."

I knew Christian drank before, but what Taylor said wasn't his occasional cocktail or glass of Brut. It was whiskey, rum, whatever, and lots of it, in his blood stream.

"- and before Wednesday he'd fight me, he'd shout at me when I advised him to get up, to shower or eat something, but not this time, he doesn't respond anymore." Taylor paused, as if wondering what to say next, but continued.

"I had to drag him out of the bed this morning, the bed that was intended for you,"

I felt like crying.

"- and he didn't fight me anymore, he didn't push me away as I pulled him into the shower and hosed him down.

He's lost, Ms. Steele, there is no better way to describe it. I'm not sure what's wrong, and he won't let anyone he knows speak with him, no family, no one. It's the only thing he refuses now. I didn't know who else to call, he's called your name out before ma'am, and he's only been like this since he met you again last Wednesday."

I didn't know what to say, I mean there was something off about Christian last week but I would never have imagined this. I couldn't. It hurt me. Christian was always so strong, so, well, dominant. And persuasive, I couldn't possibley imagine him in a deteriorated state, to hear he was broken, and know that I was probably the cause. It doesn't matter who it is, I never like to hurt anyone.

"Um Taylor, -"

He knew what he was implying, I knew it too. He would never ask me to come over, but he knew that I would understand I had to come. I don't think Taylor knows exactly what happened between Christian and I, but I'm sure he knows that it wasn't without difficulty that we separated ourselves from another. It was complicated, and Taylor knows that.

Closing my laptop and sliding it off my lap onto the couch, I stood up.

"I'll be there in 20 minutes." I only said.

It was easier to get to his apartment, now that I lived in Seattle.

"It's still the same place, right?"

Suddenly worried about the time it would take for me to get to him. I was eager to hold him, to grab him and scream at him and cry for him and let him take me again. It was wrong, but everything about it felt so right.

"Yes, Ms. Steele. Should I arrange for a transpor –"

"No that's alright Taylor, I've got a car again, I can get there myself." I cut him off, rushing.

"Of course, I'll be waiting. You can park in his garage, bottom floor. You remember don't you?"

I did, but how could I forget? I remembered every last corner, every angle of Christian's apartment. Everything related to Christian I remembered.

"I do, I'm on my way Taylor."

"Alright-"

"Wait! Taylor! Hold on, wait," I can't believe I almost forgot,

"Don't tell him I'm coming, um, he might get, _scared_ …" I cringed a little again.

I wasn't sure how else to phrase it, but I didn't want Christian to get angry or frustrated or nervous if he knew I was coming, or try to prepare some pitiful speech. I needed to see his reaction when he saw me again.

"I would never Ms. Steele, I'll be waiting." Taylor said.

Good, he understands.

"Okay thanks, see you – " I spoke before hitting the red end button and dropping my phone into my bag and going to slip on my shoes.

"Wait Ana, who was that? What's wrong?" Kate interjected.

She had every right to look as worried as she probably felt; I mean I had told her some of what happened with Christian. Obviously not about his well, _preferences_ , but she was there to clean up the mess that I was after I left him.

I lied, probably unconvincingly. I didn't want to worry her more.

"It's nothing, don't worry. I have to go. Mom and Dad are fine."

The last statement was technically true, but I was hoping more to throw her off than anything else. I might not have been the most convincing liar, but I did know how to avert attention from a topic if I wanted to. My keys were already in my hand as I grabbed my jacket and pulled open the front door.

I heard Kate call after me and ignored it, not having the time to answer her right now, but also knowing she wouldn't follow.

It had gotten chillier as I stepped into my car, the roads still wet. An older and used Volkswagen Jetta, the simplest and most affordable replacement I could find after getting the money for my old car back from Christian, revved to life under my hands. Christian had of course found a brilliant and much too generous price for my old Volkswagen; it was enough so I could afford this one, and still have some money left. A part of me wondered if he had added some money to the end of the check, simply because he'd know I'd have no way of proving he had and then try to force him to take it back.

The drive to Christian's was quick, it didn't end up taking 20 minutes, partly because the traffic wasn't as bad as I anticipated on a Friday evening in Seattle, but also because I didn't once take my foot off the gas pedal. I did however, and much to my disdain, have to stop at a light, but I used the opportunity to turn my phone on silent and to text Kate and tell her I wouldn't be coming home tonight. I knew what I was going to do when I got to Christian's.

Driving there was nice; it was like stretching sore muscles after a long map or playing a piece on the piano after a weeklong hiatus, letting every turn and note come back to you in nostalgic muscle memories. I was gently pleased with myself to know that I still knew the way.

Of course, I also knew that I would never have forgotten it in the first place.

I pulled into the drive that led down one level of the small parking garage under Christian's apartment, and was suddenly nervous.

What was I doing here? Did he really need me to show up right now? Maybe he was just coping, he might even react badly if I showed up now after all this time. I had no idea what to expect, or what state I'd find him in, and even if he'd let me, I suddenly had no idea how to help him again.

But no, Taylor wouldn't have called me if it weren't absolutely necessary.

I saw him standing at the door to the stairs and the elevator, waiting with the same neutral expression on his face that'd I'd seen so many times before.

Putting my keys in my purse, I walked up to Taylor with a smile, debating about holding out my hand, but decided against it, our relationship wasn't like that.

"Ms. Steele, thank you for coming." He said, accepting my smile.

"Anytime, Taylor." I said, walking past his indicating hand into the elevator.

Even though I wasn't here for him, it was nice that my efforts might at least actually be appreciated by one other person.

The elevator ride up was short and quite. Surprisingly less awkward as I'd earlier expected.

We stepped out into the familiar apartment, looking down the hall towards the huge windows with their view across Seattle and Christian's grand piano, whose melodies had haunted me for so many weeks after I left him. The lights were dim, illuminating only the hall we were looking down and the curved stairs on the right, that led up to the second floor of his apartment. I smelled familiar, and again my nostalgic aching muscles stretched.

I turned to look at Taylor.

"He's in the kitchen ma'am." Taylor said, thinking I'd turned to ask him about Christian, perhaps to ask for help. Though that wasn't exactly why.

"No, um, Taylor,"

I looked at him, unsure of how to say this, but then thought 'fuck it,' and made firm eye contact.

"I need time with Christian, with Mr. Grey. What he needs right now Taylor, what he needs - is me." I waited, expectantly.

"I know Ms. Steele, that is why I called you. Only you can speak with him." He said, slightly confused by my seemingly obvious remark.

" _No_ , Taylor." I sighed,

"He needs me – "

I looked him in the eyes again, expecting my cheeks to flush, expecting embarrassment, but neither came. I continued without hesitation.

"- to make love to him."

I at least expected Taylor to blush or stammer, to be taken aback by my honesty. But he wasn't, and it was then that I realised that Taylor was truly one of the only men who understood Christian, and understood what we had. I smiled inwardly.

"Of course, I'm sorry Ms. Steele." He looked down, not out of embarrassment, but because he was bowing his head in respect.

"I'll be going then, if you need anything, any help with Mr. Grey, please let me know."

His departing words not needing any clarification, nor the situation we were in, Taylor stepped backwards with a small smile, and turned to the open elevator, before disappearing behind it's doors.

After they closed, another wave of anxiety hit me. I was nervous again, nervous that Christian had heard our conversation and half expecting him to be standing behind me. Knowing fully well that we were alone in this huge apartment. The thought sent shivers down my spine.

Yet I spun on my heel with surprising confidence and grace, and realised, much to my relief, that our voices would have been too small to carry down the long hallway.

So I walked down the said hallway, past doors who's purpose I had yet to discover, and to the dark atrium of the home, looking out at the skyline that shyly lit the apartment and stopping by the steps in front of the piano I knew so well.

I knew were he was, not just because Taylor had told me so, but because I could hear his ragged breathing, and see the soft glow of the kitchen lamp in my peripheral vision. It was the only light, besides those that illuminated the entrance hallway and the staircase, which was on.

I took one last glance at the dark skyline, as beautiful as I had remembered it and glad that the curtains weren't drawn, then turned to my left, towards were I knew Christian would be.

I wasn't sure if he actually was lying there, it took me a moment to identify the hunched mass that was collapsed on the kitchen counter next to the sink. His face wasn't visible, but pressed into the granite counter and resting on his arms. He was sitting on a stool.

The smell hit me not another moment later, it was strong, it smelled salty, whether from sweat or tears I didn't know. It was sour, and there was some hints of old food too. Not a good smell. Of course, there was the unmistakable smell of alcohol that drifted along towards me too. I was right, Christian had been drinking whiskey.

The smells were confirmed by the old plates of food lying around, probably not rotting, _yet_ , considering his help would have cleaned up at some point this week. The empty bottle standing next to the sink was a rather cliché sight to behold, as was the half empty one in the palm of his right hand. I hoped desperately that he hadn't drunken all that tonight.

There was a trash can next to his stool, no doubt placed there by Taylor so that Christian could vomit somewhere besides on himself, but I couldn't see if there was anything in it. I didn't want to either.

I saved Christian for last, though I saw his heaped up form first, I didn't really look at it until now. My heart clenched, my stomach rolled and I heard myself quietly gasp. He looked so defeated, so utterly _broken_ that it hurt me to see him. I was scared to see his face, I didn't want to, I wanted to run away from the man, the world's most eligible billionaire bachelor, who lay in front of me on the counter in a torn down, defeated, miserable, mess.

I didn't though, I took a deep breath, shuddering at the smell (which by the way, held no hint of Christian in it) and before stepping into the low kitchen light, I gently lowered my purse to the ground next to me.

If he hadn't heard my conversation with Taylor, then he couldn't have heard me silently walk up to him, and I momentarily thanked God for having pulled on a comfortable pair of flats that made no noise, and wouldn't give me away. Though in his current condition, I'm not sure he would have heard me at all.

In the light, I could see his sideburns; leading down to the scruffy, dark beard covered cheeks and jaw line that I'd never seen on him. His arms and the counter top still covered his face. I wasn't really prepared to see it.

I spoke,

"Christian"

He jerked and stirred, until groaning at the counter. Good, so he hadn't heard me.

I said his name again, a little louder, a little more demanding.

"Christian."

He didn't groan, but looked up this time, with a speed I'm sure should have made him dizzy in his state. It also revealed his face.

I had to force myself to keep from taking a step back, clenching my fists tighter as I took in his face.

Because I rushed over here, I didn't really have time to get dressed up much, not that I would have anyways. I was wearing my comfortable maroon flats and a pair of dark skinny jeans under an old blue t-shirt that fit me well. My jacket was red, but matched just as simply to the rest of my outfit. My hair was down and having good day for once; I recalled briefly that he liked it down. I was wearing only the make up I put on this morning, some dark mascara and a light line of eyeliner, along with some blush to brighten my face. I didn't look special, I looked average. I mean I wasn't all fancied up like he'd seen so many times before. I didn't look glamorous, I just looked good.

Christian Grey however, did not.

His beard was uneven, and as scruffy as I had seen from my earlier angle, it's clearly been a while since he shaved, or had a haircut for that matter. His hair was a greasy disarray, sticking out at odd ends. His face looked just as greasy, and sticky from the sweat I smelled earlier. The trials of vomit on his dark shirt and sweat pants also confirmed the sour smell from earlier. His lips were chapped and parted, his breath still ragged as it scraped past his teeth. His nose had been running, and it's sharp angle lead up to the dark chasms under his eyes, shadows that indicated he hadn't slept well or at all, for days.

His eyes were not the eyes I knew. They were dark, saturated orbs that glistened in the light. They reflected the defeat his posture presented, and also something more: disbelief.

I get why he'd be surprised to see me here, standing all healthy and well in front of him in his apartment kitchen. I selfishly thought that that's probably what triggered this extra episode of depression, seeing me doing well, and being sincere in the happiness and content-ness that I had shown him earlier this week. Of course I wasn't happy about him, but I had come to terms with it.

Or so I thought.

That must have been why he was so disconnected and different when I saw him, Christian was not happy, he was not content. He had masked his pain well. I was briefly ashamed that I didn't recognise it, but didn't dwell on it.

I looked at him, waiting for him to gather his words.

Or word, I should say.

"Ana" he mumbled.

"Christian." I repeated again. Gentler this time.

"Ana." He repeated again, and I fought a sigh.

I knew he was drunk, and depressed and broken but this conversation was as if we'd suddenly developed our own version of Broca's aphasia, able only to speak one word: Ana or Christian.

I knew what I had to do, and I knew why I'd come here. I was determined to keep my promise to Taylor, and to myself. So I stepped towards him, he didn't move, and I held out my hand to him.

"Come take a shower Christian." I whispered, making a request I wasn't going to take no for.

He didn't argue, and I was grateful for that. He just regarded me and my outstretched hand for a second, before pushing back his stool to stand up.

He stumbled then, clearly not used to standing on his own legs any more, and clutched the counter with a grunt.

I stepped closer to him, not wanting to crowd him but knowing he could use my hand as an anchor. He let go of counter only after grabbing my hand, gripping it like a lifeline, and I stood sturdy under his wavering, no doubt, dizzy form.

I was grateful again that he didn't feel the need to vomit. I think I was being very grateful in general that night.

Christian's hand was cold and clammy, sticky from the sweat and what I hoped to God was not vomit. But it was still his hand, and it was big and strong. It gave me some hope that he was still somewhere in there, in the mess that stood before me.

I tugged gently on it, wanting to pull him back out towards the atrium and to the hall that lead to his bathroom. He mumbled my name again, but held my hand and followed behind me, swaying only slightly as I turned.


	2. Chapter 2: Yellow Light, Dark Night

I flipped on the lights in the hall with my free hand as I went, keeping the other firmly placed in Christian's grasp.

As I reached the bathroom entrance, I turned again, facing him wordlessly and stepping back into the bathroom. The lights were already on, Taylor had probably left them on from this morning.

I released his hand to dim the lights a little bit, Christian was squinting and I didn't want him to be uncomfortable. So I lowered them to a soft yellow glow, and walked over to the shower to get some hot water running.

Christian stood silently by the door, awaiting my next instructions. I debated using the tub, though decided against it, knowing that neither Christian nor I would want to sit there and soak in his filth. (Although at this point I'm not sure he would care, or remember).

He was still quiet, and I wondered if he was always this silent when intoxicated, or whether it was just my presence that stunned him. I mean I was pretty shocked with myself as well, having half expected myself to turn around on the way here.

I methodically pulled out two towels as I prepared for the shower, and slipped of my flats before looking up at him again and smiling. He didn't smile back, but the expression his face held told me he was relaxed.

I walked over to him and put my hands on his chest, aware of the fact that he was letting me touch him, even if only platonically. His hands lifted and found my waist, a small, lazy, and definitely drunk smile playing on his lips. He probably thought he was dreaming. It didn't matter to me at this point, as long as he was feeling better.

"Off." I said, tugging at his shirt.

His silence prolonging, Christian lifted his arms up off my waist and into the air for me, and I peeled it slowly up off his chest until I was standing on my toes and couldn't reach, grunting enough so that he would get the hint and finish pulling it off for me. He did, and I exhaled, raking my eyes fleetly across his firm chest and stomach while he dropped his shirt on the ground next to us. Still facing him, I boldly hooked my fingers on either side of the waistband on his sweatpants, looking up at him, waiting for permission.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

He didn't make any signal for me to continue, but he also didn't tell me to stop, so I tugged gently, taking his boxers (another uncharacteristic article of clothing for Christian Grey) down along with his sweats. I reached mid thigh till they got loose enough to drop and fall the rest of the way down.

Without looking (a difficult task, mind you) I put my cold hand on his hip, pulling him towards me and silently signaling him to step out of the pants pooled at his feet. He did, his tired gaze not breaking from mine, lazy smile still on his lips, and stopped one step closer to me. I couldn't help but notice that the shower had fogged up the room a little, the air was hot and thick, and in the warm, hazy light I saw a line of sweat begin to run down the centre of his chest.

I glanced down briefly; after all it wasn't anything I haven't seen before. I noted he wasn't hard, and was slightly relieved but also worried. Glad I didn't actually have to keep my resolution from earlier (I _would,_ just probably not tonight) but also worried that my undressing him, however chaste it was, didn't get him the least bit excited. Worried that I'd still have to be down on my knees or bound for him to get turned on by my actions.

But I pushed those thoughts away for later, focusing on the task at hand, namely: I was still fully dressed. I let go of him, tore my eyes from his and walked towards the shower, suddenly conscious of his eyes on my back again. I pulled off my jacket and my shirt, dropping them as I went, and leaned down to attempt to gracefully pull off my jeans.

I don't think it was gracious, but I didn't fall, so I marked that as a win in my book. I'm sure Christian didn't care either way anyways.

I turned to him then, still in my bra and the small, un-matching slip I had on, and slipped both those off before making eye contact with him again.

"Come." I commanded again.

He walked towards me slowly; I gave him time to walk on his own without my guiding hand. His eyes were darting around the room that must have been spinning in his mind.

I turned and stepped into the shower before he reached me, letting the water hit my shoulders and my face, shivering in its warmth. I felt him step in behind me, closing the now fogged up glass door.

He stood still behind me and let his hands find my waist again. We were close enough to touch, but not pressed against each other. It was comfortable and familiar; I felt his breath on the top of shoulder.

I moved him into the stream of the water, wanting him to get as soaked as I was. While I leaned over and got some shampoo in my hands, his remained steady but light on my waist.

"Anastasia,"

"What's up?" I said casually but quietly, beginning to slowly massage the shampoo into his hair, effectively wrapping my arms around his neck to reach, facing him now.

"What are you doing here?"

"Showering. What does it look like?"

It looked as though he was struggling to find his words, whether it was from the alcohol or my fingers curling in his hair, I couldn't tell.

He sighed, exasperated.

"What?" I asked again, a little irritated now myself.

His eyes abruptly turned intense again, his gaze turning into a hard stare, the smile slipping off his features. This time it wasn't the water that made me shiver.

"Nothing."

"Good. Now shut up and let me wash your hair."

I wasn't going to take any of his crap tonight. I was trying to help him, why couldn't he just let me? But his eyes softened, and I decided to let it go. They suddenly looked tired. Though still the black orbs from before, they seemed to emit the shadows under his lids, searching my eyes for the answer to a question I didn't know.

I finished rinsing his hair and reached behind him to grab some shower gel. I remembered the smell, fresh and cool. It smelled like him. I made a mental note to remember the brand so I could secretly pick some up later.

His arms slipped from my waist and fell to his sides. As I began to rub some of the soap into the apex of his chest, his shoulders slumped and his head dropped slightly. I heard a sigh slip out of his mouth, it was relaxed, but his body shook under my hands. He was exhausted. I guess my plans would have to wait till tomorrow.

I kneaded my hands a little harder into the parts of his back and shoulders that I could reach, stepping closer and pressing myself a little into him. His body felt as delectable as it had before, but it was unresponsive to my touch. He simply drooped further and let his head rest on my shoulder. I held him then, and let the warm water run over us and rinse the soap of his body.

"Let's go to bed Christian." I said softly, running my hand down his slick back.

I felt him nod slightly, and he pulled away, giving me the quick chance to rinse my own hair out and turn off the water. We must have been standing there for longer than I thought, because my legs felt wobbly and weak. His exhaustion was infectious.

But he managed to step out of the shower by himself this time, the cool air probably clearing his mind, and wrapped a towel around his waist. I tried not to frown at the loss of exposure and contact.

I wrapped my own towel around my chest, fastened it and reached for his hand again. Switching off the lights off as we made our way back to his bedroom through the dark halls, Christian had taken it upon himself to lead the way this time. I was happy to see that he was taking some initiative for himself again.

Only his bedside lights were on, and his bed was clean and freshly made. That made me happier than it should have, I didn't really feel like making a bed right now.

He didn't even hesitate as he pulled the towel off his hips and collapsed on the bed, dropping it next to him, inhaling the scent of his pillows, ass bare towards the ceiling.

I smirked; good to know _some_ of his confidence was still in there.

I reached over and pulled his towel away from next to him, and let it join the floor with mine at the foot of the bed. Trying as hard as possible to not make contact with his naked form, I leaned over him to switch of his lamp. The room was as black as his eyes last were, and it took me a moment to adjust the small rays of light coming in from the skyline and buildings outside.

I shimmied under the blankets next to Christian and he managed to do the same, pulling the cover out from under him and letting it fall back on his body.

"Thank you."

It was muffled by the pillows his face was pressed into, but unlike the first time we met again earlier this week, I could here the sincerity in his calm voice.

My body was turned towards his, and I fought the urge to reach out and stroke his back, or his shoulder, or his arm. I noted that I had yet to kiss him, and my lips itched to feel his, or just any part of him.

Instead I whispered a small 'you're welcome,' probably so quiet in the big room that it must have been inaudible to his already half-unconscious form.

I sighed a little resignedly and nestled deeper into the pillows, vaguely aware of the naked, defeated God like man lying next to me, and wondering what'd I'd gotten myself into again.

Christian didn't snore, but I heard his ragged, deep breathing again loudly in the open room, so I let the massive silence, the darkness and the rhythm of his exhales consume my mind and drag me down into the rest of our night.

* * *

A/N: so this one's a little short guys sorry, but I'll try to write something more and bigger over the weekend (their physical reunion has yet to occur, and Christian should be rather hung over in the morning hehe)

THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone who reviewed, I would have never expected that, your words n appreciation make a girl happier than you might think.

I have a couple of chapters here n there planned out but if y'all have any ideas or scenarios you would like to see them in, I wanna keep this going as long as I can, so review and let me know I'd greatly appreciate it and open for anything!

-All characters belong to EL James-

Happy Halloween(;


	3. Chapter 3: Saturday, Not Sunday Morning

A/N: forgot to mention the M rating was also for some swearing. Not too much, but drizzled here n there as I imagine Ana does (though only in her thoughts. She I imagine, like I, would only rarely seriously swear out loud).

I admittedly have only read the first of the trilogy, but have just gotten the last two books and intend on reading them soon, probably around thanksgiving. My account on emotional back stories and what not should be far more detailed after then, I just don't want to say something wrong right now, so I'll be referring only to the events of the first book.

Take a gander at my closing A/N if ya wanna see what songs inspired specific parts of this chapter (although there's kind of a spoiler in that note so bare that in mind!)

Sorry for taking so long to update! As I said I've been super busy, so this one's a bit longer to make up for it.

I hope y'all had a good Halloween! And thanks super duper to all my reviewers!

All characters belong to EL James.

* * *

I woke up disorientated that morning. The sun was peaking through my curtains, hitting my face even though I _always_ close my curtains, so exactly that wouldn't happen. It was incredibly frustrating, and I was very upset with myself for having forgotten such a mundane item in my nightly routine.

But then something shifted and I heard a groan come from behind me. I suddenly, very painfully and abruptly, realised I wasn't alone. In fact, I wasn't even at home.

Memories of last night came flooding back as I remembered the decision I had made and what lead me to this foreign, yet at the same time familiar, bed.

 _What the fuck am I doing here._

What was I thinking? Why did I get in bed with Christian? And why, for the sake of all that is holy, did I decide to do this _naked_.

You'd think really that I had been the drunk one last night, not Christian.

My frozen body didn't do my racing heart justice as I took in my surroundings, particularly were Christian was. I had moved in the night and ended up facing the windows, and was delighted to find the blankets still covering my breasts.

I turned slowly, keeping a hand inauspiciously placed over by chest so as to keep the covers from slipping away. Christian had apparently groaned because the sun was too hitting his face. I was frustrated with myself again. How inconsiderate of me, of course I should have covered the windows, God damn it Ana. I internally smacked my forehead before returning my attention towards the man in front of me.

He too I remembered, was naked. Though luckily enough, the blankets had been considerate enough to stay above his waist also. His torso however, was completely bare. Though I've never been one to go for a guy because of his body or physique, I could not deny, Christian Grey was stunning when shirtless. I'd come to realise this very early on in our relationship, and accepted my decision to mindlessly ogle him not shortly afterwards. Now, the sun was shining on his skin at an angle so that it cast small shadows under the ridges of his muscles, but paled his skin to an almost too bright tone. His right arm was sprawled out next to him, almost hanging off the bed (though it never would, his bed was far to large to allow something like that) and his left lay over his face, haphazardly tossed there at some point this morning.

I didn't do much then, my pulse slowed down a bit, though it had not yet returned to normal. My body couldn't decide whether it was excitement or an imminent threat that lay before me, and I couldn't either. To fight or to flight Ana? Which will it be?

Maybe I could just half flight and go take a shower or something, but then again if I got up my movements could wake him, leading to his probable viewing of my fully exposed body in the light, something that might trigger a response I wasn't sure I could follow through with right now. I could just lay here and see what he does, I mean he's bound to be terribly hung over anyways, so he won't be much in a mood to deal with me. What if he's angry then? Oh shit what if he doesn't remember I put him here? What if he's upset that I undressed him and showered him and basically violated a very unresponsive Christian? But I had given him the choice, hadn't I? I mean he said yes, but then again he wasn't really in a condition to make decisions for himself. After all the last person I wanted to see while I was wrecked and depressed after Christian was Christian. I probably would have hit him. Then again knowing him he might have liked that, or just thought it was funny.

But what I also recalled, however much I tried to deny it, was that Christian was also the only person I wanted to see after I left him. However sick and twisted _that_ might be.

But what if he isn't angry, and lets say I hypothetically go through with my original plan from yesterday, well then he could very easily take dominance over me again. And I know if he did I wouldn't have the strength to say no to him again, either physically or emotionally. Then we'd just be right back to where we started.

So either way the risk factor of lying in Christian Grey's bed was very high, and very _not_ in my favour.

The said person of interest however, made my decision for me and curtly cut off my inner ranting turmoil. He moved, removing his arm from his head and squeezing his eyes shut against the light. I froze again, holding my breath, thinking that if this wasn't flight then I must be fighting, but this didn't really feel like fighting. I definitely didn't think I was winning.

His eyes remained shut tightly as he ran his hand down his still darkly bearded jaw, dropping it loudly on his stomach.

Christian inhaled deeply, his early morning voice deep and rough, cracking a little.

"Ana."

I still didn't move, but slowly let out my breath so as not to give myself away.

 _Why why why why why why_

"Yes?"

I cringed internally at how small my voice was. I sounded as guilty as I felt.

"You didn't have to do this." A quiet pause.

"Yes I did."

"No, you really didn't."

Well now I was angry. Smooth move Christian Grey. Of all the ways I had imagined this morning going, this wasn't really one of them. At least not yet.

"What do you mean 'I didn't,' Christian?" I was quietly seething.

Who did he think I was? At least drunk Christian Grey had the decency to thank me last night.

"You're upset." He pointed out.

"Yes I'm _upset_ Christian. Why can't you just accept that I'm here because I want to help you, because you need help? **You,** Christian Grey, needed help. You still need help. And unfortunately, because you're just so rosy and kind to everyone else, no one else was bothered to come up here and fucking help you!"

He flinched at my words, at my swearing, familiar to my vocabulary as boxers were to his waist. I had sat up to pointedly and angrily stare at him while talking. Or rather, shouting. The covers slipped off my chest and fell to my hips as I propped myself up at an arm and stared incredulously at him. I was upset, so angry that I felt like crying. I don't know why I thought he'd just be all happy to see me and everything would be okay and everything would be like it was before. I was a fool. I felt like a naive, stupid, fool.

His eyes had flashed down to my breasts, a normal male, or human for that matter, reaction. Though the way his eyes looked back up at mine, cringing against the light that no doubt felt like a hammer against his temples, he swallowed, saying nothing but also saying everything through his expression. I shouldn't have felt as objectified as I did, considering I had just as, if not more, shamelessly stared at him not a couple minutes ago. But the way his eyes met mine again…

No. No way Christian Grey.

"No. Christian, I'm leaving."

I announced my departure, regretting every decision I had ever made to come here. I wasn't going to get trapped in his stare again, I wasn't going to let him seduce my only too stupidly curious and innocent (at least that's what it was before Christian) mind. I refused to let myself feel sadness for him.

Getting up and letting the blankets fall from me completely, I let the sun hit him fully in the face, hoping it would worsen the stabbing in his skull. It might have been petty, but I refused to admit it. He was being petty himself. And he had to get up eventually, so I was really only doing him a kindness.

But he didn't recoil and groan or squint at the light, he just continued to intently stare, his gaze, despite the exhaustion still marring his features, remained fixed on me.

"Anastasia."

" _What._ "

I didn't look, but I imagined he would have flinched again, my voice had been icier than I'd ever heard it before.

"Wait, Ana just wait. Please – Please don't go."

"No I'm not staying Christian. This was stupid. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for coming. I shouldn't have."

Why was I the one apologising? I didn't want to look at him. I didn't want to see his sad eyes and his sunken face and I didn't want to fall back into his arms. Not after what he did. I'd never be able to forget that part of him.

"Please Ana. Just don't –

"Don't what Christian? Leave you again? _Hurt_ you again? You think you're the victim here Christian? You think you're the only one who needs to be held and washed and helped?!" I was still angry, I kept shouting at him. He sat up now, clearly energised.

"I don't! I don't. Anastasia I don't deserve it. I don't deserve your help or you, I don't deserve you presence. You should leave. But I'm asking you not to. It's the most selfish thing I could ever ask of you but what you did was right. You knew what I needed and what I need and that's you. It's you."

His voice faltered at the end and it turns out it I didn't have to look at his face to be able to imagine how broken he must have looked. His voice was dry, cracking and so very sad. I felt deflated. I couldn't say no to him, but I couldn't bare to look at him and live with the decision I was about to make. I felt sick, I was disgusted with myself for doing this, for having crawled back to a man who hit rock bottom over his own self-loathing.

I sighed. Turning to look at him and forced myself not to cry in front of him. He's seen me vulnerable so many times, in the most intimate way but for some reason I couldn't even fathom that idea right now.

"Why didn't you say that before?"

"Before?"

"Before I left. Before everything. Why did you let me leave then and now all of a sudden can't let me leave now? Can't let go? It would make everything so much easier."

"I think you and I both know that it wouldn't be 'so much easier.'"

"You didn't answer my question."

He sighed. ' _Oh,_ the _audacity_ ' I thought.

"Because I didn't know what I had until I didn't have it anymore."

Scratch Courteous Christian, replace with Cliché Christian please.

I scoffed.

"Ana just listen to me. I thought I was stronger, everything in my life screamed towards my authority, my strength -

 _'_ _\- your dominance.'_ I thought.

"- my independence. But I'm not that strong. I'm not going to make up some bullshit about how you made me stronger. You didn't. You made me weak, and vulnerable. You made me question every lifestyle decision I've ever made. You made me question who I was and who I could be for you. And after you left you told me I couldn't be anyone for you and I believed it, you were right. I was, I am, disgusted with who I was, with the controlling, vindictive man I was. So I preferred being vulnerable, being weak, because that's how you made me feel and I loved it. I loved being loved by you even if I didn't deserve it."

He kept looking straight at me, waiting for my reaction.

"So you 'weakened' yourself after I left? That doesn't make sense Christian! That's like self- harm! That's delusional! You hurt yourself so you could feel close to me?!"

I mean I knew neither of us were doing well but I would never had thought to harm myself. I mean I had Kate and mom and dad and everyone. I mean he still has family…

"No, that's not delusional Anastasia.

That's called heart break."

I stood still then, the anger draining out of me just as quickly as the colour did out of my face. I knew I had hurt Christian, in different ways than he had hurt me, I knew he had liked me to some degree, but I'd never have imagined that I had the ability to break his heart. He powered on.

"You see, this is where our problem is. I know I don't deserve your understanding, but if you just, just please for one tiny _fraction_ of a second, let yourself consider the possibility that that I loved, love, you as much as you loved me, then explaining myself would be a whole lot easier. I just took a little more time to realise it, and that time is what turned me into what I am now."

His face wasn't sad anymore, it was determined yet soft. Any trace of frustration or doubt or fear that had been there before was gone, he'd gotten what he needed off his chest, I heard him, I understood him, and he knew it.

This was why I'd come, this was what he needed. I thought he needed to do this physically, to show me how he loved me, but he didn't. All he had to do was say it.

For the first time in my life, Christian Grey appeared simpler to me than any man I'd ever met before.

I knew I should leave now, to let him deal with the confession he just made, but he just sat there in his bed, half exposed with a ragged, messy beard and hair sticking up at odd ends. With the still tired, hung over (though now sated) expression on his face, he looked pretty crazy. I was still completely exposed, standing naked in front of him. It must have been pretty difficult for him to see me angrily shout at him while fully naked and not even smile the slightest. I know I would have.

"You should take another shower. Clean yourself up some." I heard myself say.

"Okay."

"And I'm going to go make you something to eat, you need to eat."

Deciding on the neutral choice of staying in the apartment, but at a distance from him, was the best I could think of right now.

"Okay Ms. Bossy Pants." He smirked and chuckled a little at his personally cynical joke.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes, or to respond to his smile, to show the elation I felt seeing him even remotely content again.

Curse him and his plans that always worked. Somehow I, the sober person, had the plan that totally failed.

I left his bedroom, hearing him get up behind me, and focused on finding some clothes. Damn it, mine were still in the bathroom. I debated streaking to the kitchen to see if Taylor had left me any, but with the curtains in Christian's Atrium fully drawn open the thought didn't really appeal to me. It would have made an interesting wake up call to who ever might be looking into the wide apartment windows.

Instead I settled on grabbing a shirt from his closet, an action I remembered doing on the first night we spent together.

I heard Christian start the shower from somewhere behind me as I made my way to the kitchen, absentmindedly grabbing out some eggs and starting up the stove. I didn't want to think about what he said, how much it must have hurt him to admit that. But I wondered why he couldn't tell me that before, why he couldn't have called me before. He probably would come up with some 'I'm not deserving' bullshit if I asked him why. But he was in a good mood now, he'd said what he needed to say and despite the lingering tension, at least everything from last night had been cleared up. It was one step further and would let it go. For now.

Because despite what Christian might think, he didn't appear as vulnerable as he thought he felt when he was with me, but then again I wasn't in his head, I didn't know what was going on in there.

The eggs were starting to come together nicely, scrambled of course. I can't do much else, and that's how I prefer them anyhow. As they were cooking I decided to clean up a bit, putting away the unfinished bottle of whiskey (though I was tempted to throw it out, never wanting to see Christian that intoxicated again) whilst tossing out the other empty one along with the old food and whatever other waste he'd left lying around. I put the dirty dishes in the wash, but took out to fresh ones to serve the now finished eggs on.

I heard Christian walk in to the kitchen area as I had my back turned to him, popping in some bread to toast for us. I was also pleasantly surprised to find that he had shaved, his clean face and strong jaw line now uncovered.

He smiled warmly at me, most the tiredness gone out of his eyes, but he wrinkled his nose slightly as the eggs, surely nauseated by the smell of warm food right now.

"At least start with some toast."

He snickered at how I read his mind, took it from me and began to take small bites out of it, a smile still on his features.

I poured him some water, juice for myself, and leaned on the counter while Christian sat in front of me on the other side of the bar, eating his toast. The sun was shining in through his still open windows, the mood was calm, even familiar. It felt good.

"What?" I asked about his smile.

"Nothing." He shook his head, _still_ smiling.

"Oh please, Mr. Grey, don't be too modest."

The smug smile remained, though waivered a little. He looked up from his toast, staring me directly in the eyes. The tension returned.

"It's just seems like you weren't planning on making me breakfast last night."

"What?" Okay, now I was confused.

"I'm just saying. Maybe that was just your plan B, but your stripping me down certainly implied something else."

"Jesus Christ Christian. I was trying to help you." Not even embarrassed that he remembered that.

He laughed fully now, clearly entertained by how easy it was to screw with me.

"I know, I know. I've been there too, I've done the same for you."

My mind backtracked slowly to the night I had called him in a _much_ too drunk condition, and him taking me back to his hotel room at the Heathman. In which we proceeded to sleep. Only sleep.

"Except I imagine it wasn't as difficult for you to resist me last night as it had been for me to resist you that first night."

The line could have been a playful jab, a flirtatious joke, yet Christian sounded sad, his eyes lowered a little as he said it, still clearly ashamed of his abhorrent condition last night.

Eager to keep up the good mood we were in, I responded with a joke anyhow.

"Yeah don't worry, it was all to easy to avoid your beautiful vomit covered body last night." I laughed a little, hoping he didn't see through my lie.

Because again, technically that part was true, but his _clean_ body? That was exponentially more difficult to stay away from. Again, I mastered the art of avoiding the lie, but cleverly staying on topic. It made me more proud than it probably should have.

He laughed a little too, still seeming a little upset, but looked like he had decided to let it go for now. We were letting a lot of things go, I had the feeling we'd be having some pretty heavy conversations later. That is, if this worked out and we'd still want to see each other. I wasn't even totally sure if I wanted to come back to him yet, but if we could somehow work through the issues we had, if Christian could surrender some of who he was and I could forgive some of who he was, and who I was…

But it didn't matter right now. I was in a good mood and so was he, we were healing, and even if only for right now, if only for today, we would see each other. I returned my focus to Christian, breaking the silence.

"So what's on the schedule today? Taylor told me you might have a lot of work to, um, catch up on."

"It's Saturday, I can do that on Monday."

"Are you sure? I mean you wouldn't want to let it pile up I'm sure you know that…"

"Well sure, but I'm also terribly hung over." He said rather matter-of-factly.

Right.

"Umm, well I guess you could just recover tom-"

"That and you're here now. I'm not going to waste my time working."

"Oh…" I mumbled, trailing off.

Looking him in the eyes, I was a little uncomfortable under his gaze, but at the same time it felt so good to have him look at me like that…

His eyes flickered from mine when he noticed me shift, and he looked a little unsure of himself again, it was awkward. The tension between us was actually _awkward._ I never would have imagined this.

He cleared his throat.

"But we'll figure something out. I'll start by having Taylor bring you some clothes, hmm?"

I didn't say anything, still basking in how it felt to be looked at like that. God damn it. I was faced with the same dilemma I've had since first I met this man: How could something so wrong feel so _good_?

"Ana?"

"Yeah sure, we can start with that."

His eyes returned to mine. It's like he could read my mind too. He knew what I was feeling. How he made me feel.

"Okay. Let's start with that." He said gently, before raising his eyebrows and motioning to the eggs beside my propped up elbows.

"I think I can give those a go now, if you'll let me."

"Oh shit, yeah, sorry. Um, you sure? I mean, like take it easy. You're stomach might still be upset."

"Mhm, I think I've got it." He said while slightly and slowly leaning over to reach out and grab the plate.

"Okay…"

My distraction was evident as I watched his arm and shoulder stretch out under his T-shirt. Damn him. Damn him and his unconsciously sexy way of grabbing a plate of eggs.

He started eating, then lifted his fork up to point it at me, swallowing.

"Are you going to eat too, or just stand there and watch me?"

I blushed furiously before nodding my head in a silent yes and slid the plate of eggs in front of me, beginning to eat.

The apartment was filled with a comfortable silence, tapping forks on plates with quiet munching emanating from the kitchen. And though the warm morning sunlight didn't make a sound, it sounded like a Sunday Morning. It felt like a Sunday Morning.

There were occasional glances up from our food, making eye contact here and there, but neither of us said anything until I had finished my food, as Christian was still nursing his plate.

"You don't have to finish that you know, if you like it we can put it away for later."

"No it's fine, I'm done."

I didn't have the time to protest as he suddenly jerked into action, quickly shovelling the eggs into his mouth. So damn stubborn.

I sighed then and only after giving him a pointed look, took the plates to put them in the dishwasher behind me.

"You don't have to do that."

The words wouldn't have startled me on any given occasion, but I jumped, because the words came from a person that had suddenly, very skilfully managed to move himself off the bar stool and around to my side of the counter.

I turned, thankful that he wasn't directly behind me, but still a few steps away, leaning against the counter.

"I want to. It's not that difficult. You would know if you cleaned up your own kitchen every now and then." I smiled.

He chuckled a little, his shoulders jostling slightly.

"I do clear my own dishes, Ms. Steele. Contrary to your impervious beliefs."

I smiled a little brighter, happy with the mood we were in right now. But I didn't step towards him, I didn't want to ruin this mood, this Sunday Morning glaze we've been wrapped in.

He noticed my hesitation, or rather, my indecision on what to do next, and stepped towards me.

"Did I thank you for showering me off last night?" He said lowly, looking me in the eyes.

"Um, I think so yeah…"

"Did I thank you for coming at all last night?" He stepped closer.

"I guess. I just kind of took your thank you as a blanket thank you for everything."

"Okay."

"Yeah." I said rather breathily, my lips parting and remaining open.

He was close enough to touch now. His arms slowly came up from their original position at his side and slowly hovered, wanting to make their way to my waist. He looked at my face, waiting for permission himself this time, and as he saw my expression didn't change and my lips stayed parted, he settled them warmly and firmly on my hips.

They were heavy, I felt like they were pulling me down, but then again that could have just been the sudden weakness in my legs that made me feel like getting dragged to ground.

He was even closer to me now, looking down intently into my eyes. His were dark, but not dark like they were last night. They were clouded, deep, like every emotion he'd ever felt for me was caught in them. His hands moved up to cup my cheeks and his eyes stayed locked with mine, as if he was urging me to look into his nebulous irises and feel everything he's felt. It was an intense feeling, I felt overpowered but empowered by him all at once, and found myself wanting to close the space between our faces. I stayed still though, and let him decide what he wanted to do.

He stroked his right thumb over my cheek and murmured my name silently, almost as if to himself. His eyes kept searching mine for an objection and my legs practically melted underneath me. Not finding any dissension, Christian closed in on my lips, his opening to match mine.

His breath was hot and gentle, and so was the kiss. His lips moulded over mine and let themselves get wrapped up, moving between mine in a desperately familiar feeling. It had been so long since I've felt this, and I hadn't known what I was missing until his lips reminded mine.

My arms remained at my side, knowing that if I reached up to touch him I wouldn't be able to stop. So I simply hung there in his hands as we continued to kiss. Our tongues lightly flickering out to touch one another, tracing each other's lips but not reaching any further. It was incredible and everything that matched the mood we were in. It answered every question and even if it didn't answer every doubt, it confirmed that those doubts would be cleared eventually. Though not perfect, not without faults, it promised a future. I would have continued it forever if it weren't for the fact that I, and he, actually had to breath.

I broke the kiss, gasping slightly for air, but keeping my eyes closed to revel in it. I heard his breath, as ragged and deep as my own, and then slowly opened my lids to see him looking down as intently at me as he had before.

He caught his breath a little, and leaving his hands on my face said

" _That_ was the thank you I was talking about."

* * *

A/N: Oooh kinda cliffhanger idk. Hopefully leaving you wanting more at the least.

I was listening to the song "Cover your tracks" by A Boy and his Kite whilst writing Christian's confession, helped set the mood, and then "Like Real People Do" by Hozier right after that. I was also listening to "Everything and Nothing" by The Boom Circuits at the end in the kitchen, when Christian steps closer to Ana, felt it matched the mood quiet well too. Look them up if ya want! (And yes it's from the twilight sound track. My fellow shippers would understand, no shame.)

I'm putting off the sex, I know. It's not that I don't want to write it but I want to wait for the right moment, and as a kind reviewer reminded me, it does make sense that they'd be hesitant or timid about jumping right into it.


	4. Author's Note

Hey guy's sorry I haven't been updating I've had a lot of work lately. I've also been spending my free time reading the rest of the trilogy, not writing. This way I'll have a better emotional back-story to continue to allow the characters to develop along a similar path of the one that EL James had original created for them. I hesitate to continue writing about the emotional scars Christian and Ana have without knowing exactly where they came from. I should be done around the end of November/December, and will have a lot of free time over Thanksgiving break so I'll try to update by then. My updates might also then become less connected, that is, more one shot like as Christian and Ana recover from their reuniting and continue to slide back into their lives.

Any ideas or scenarios you want to see them in, let me know!

Also if any of you are interested, I found a great blog with fan art from the FSOG Trilogy, the artists name is Victoria, her blog is Ruffles and Restraints (.com). Look her up! She depicts the scenes very well and accurately, I personally find it's quite satisfying to find an accurate presentation of what the mind imagines. Obviously some spoiler warnings if you haven't read everything, since the artwork is from all books but she sets warnings in her descriptions as well. They're very well thought through. Enjoy!

And Happy (albeit early) Thanksgiving to those of y'all who celebrate it!


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